


Fifty Shades of Platinum

by orphan_account, smutinator



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Flirting, Falling In Love, Fifty Shades of Grey, Flirting, Getting Together, Humor, Improper Use of a Rosary, M/M, Mutual Pining, Phichit the best wingman, Pining, Smut, Viktor is a big shot, Viktor is a closet cinnamon roll, Viktor is kinky af, Viktors expensive taste, Yuuri is a closet sinnamon roll, cable ties, elements of BDSM, journalist yuuri, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutinator/pseuds/smutinator
Summary: In attempt to secure a career in journalism, Yuuri takes on the terrifying task of interviewing the editor in chief of an elite fashion magazine: Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri plans to use the interview to uncover his well hidden secret and expose it to the public, giving himself a memorable debut in the world of journalism. However, Viktor seems to be much more interested in him than giving up his well-guarded secret. Yuuri finds himself becoming a part of something he never intended to and falling for the mysterious man in the process.“So… What was he like anyway?”Phichit wiggled his eyebrows making Yuuri flush.“He was…” He licked his lips trying to put into words the entirety of Viktor Nikiforov.“Polite, Intense, Smart.”“Really kind of intimidating.”





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri kept shifting in seat, glancing at the receptionist every so often.

The office building he was in was nice, well-kept to say the least, but the floor that he was on had some of the most elaborate and expensive décor he’d ever seen. The room he was sitting in had warm, soft lighting, definitely not the inexpensive fluorescent lighting most offices used. Leather couches and chairs lined the perimeter of the lobby and a marble coffee table sat in the middle of the room with a champagne bottle resting inside a bucket of ice sitting in the middle of it. The whole room screamed money and it made Yuuri a thousand times more nervous than he already was before he stepped onto the floor.

He shifted in his seat gain and the leather of his chair squeaked as he moved.

Yuuri internally cringed at the noise, wishing away the awkwardness he knew he must be exuding. He just needed to psyche up some semblance of confidence in himself before his interview.

He’d worked at The Hasetsu Times for five years now, from the time he started university to a year after he’d graduated. Despite his half-decade at the paper, Yuuri had not climbed the ranks as impressively as he hoped he would. He started in position that basically equivalent to menial labor; making copies, buying coffee, and occasionally dispersing a newly bought bulk of office supplies around the office. In five years he gone from an abused intern to writing the obituaries. The goddamn obituaries.

But the universe had apparently decided to smile on him as one of the paper's long time reporters had quit, leaving a spot up for the taking. He tracked down his bureau chief, Celestino, immediately after hearing the news. The normally shy boy reached deep inside of himself to find enough assertiveness to demand that he be given the position, citing his five miserable years at The Hasetsu Times as his worthiness. Celestino agreed to let him have an assignment as a test run to see if Yuuri could handle the demanding job of being a reporter; an interview.

However, Yuuri was beginning to regret asking for the position. He felt so close to having a panic attack just sitting in the lobby. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for his dream job after all.

Before he could marinate in his anxiety any longer, heard a voice call his name.

“Yes?” he answered as he turned his head and saw a tall blond man standing in the entrance to the offices from the lobby.

Yuuri immediately stood, quickly throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. His clumsy movements caused his bag to hit the lamp sitting on the table next to the chair he had been sitting in. He luckily caught the lamp and set it upright, but he could see the receptionist make a disgusted expression at his disruption. He hurried over to the blond man and the two began walking down the corridor.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Our editor-in-chief is a busy man.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just pleased he had time to meet with me in person. I know he has refused to do in person interviews in the past.” Yuuri replied.

The man who was escorting him was _very_ attractive. However, so was every employee he’d seen so far. The man turned and looked at him oddly, and it was then Yuuri realized he had been staring. He flushed, realizing how strange he must appear.

“Um- I, how long have you worked for Mr. Nikiforov? And what is your position under him? I- I mean- what is your position at _The Magazine_?”

The man hummed. “Well I worked here for seven years, and then the past three as a secretary to the editor in chief. I used to do reviews of new lines released for each season, but I found that I am much more suited to secretarial work.” He glanced at Yuuri from beneath his long cow like lashes.

“Also, Mr. Katsuki, his name is pronounced _Niliforov_.”

“How long did- wait, _Niliforov?_ But his name is spelt-”

“Yes I know. But Niliforov is the correct pronunciation.”

The man reached out and gently pushed Yuuri’s lower jaw up. He hadn't even begun the interview yet and he was sweating in embarrassment. Deciding to avoid further humiliation, Yuuri remained quiet the rest of the walk to Mr. Nikiforov’s office.

After what seemed like an eon, Yuuri arrived at Mr. Nikiforov's office. Yuuri waited, a few feet away from the door while his escort knocked on the door and opened it.

“Thank you, Chris.” An accented voice called from inside the room.

The man, Chris, moved to side of the door and gestured for Yuuri to enter with somewhat sly expression on his handsome face. Yuuri tentatively stepped forward. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, he took a deep breath and reminded himself to not screw his only chance of his childhood dream becoming reality. Whatever happened during this interview would determine the course of his career, his life.

He exhaled and walked into the room.

The lobby was in itself an extravagant room, but it was not a marvel like Mr. Nikiforov's office.

The office was a huge open space, the size of a apartment for two. The floors were grey slick tile and one wall was made entirely of huge glass windows. Several large marble busts were scattered throughout the office as well as odd amount of tall lamps. In the center of the office was a long wooden desk with the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen leaning against it; Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri had seen plenty of pictures of Mr. Nikiforov before, but none of them had prepared him for how ethereal he appeared in person. He was not as tall as Chris, but he was infinitely more intimidating. Everything from his perfectly parted platinum hair to his polished shoes sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine. Mr. Nikiforov’s lips were curved into an almost haughty smirk, but his blue eyes were alight with an almost childlike curiosity.

“Hello, Mr. Katsuki.” Mr. Nikiforov greeted Yuuri. He gestured to the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Yuuri mumbled out a thank you and awkwardly sat down. He sat his bag in his lap and pulled out his list of interview questions and his phone to record the interview. He fumbled with opening the app as he felt Mr. Nikiforov's watchful gaze on him. Once he finally set the app to record, he turned towards Mr. Nikiforov.

“Mr. Nikiforov, thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I know it must have been difficult to fit me into your schedule.” Yuuri was surprised at how calm and professional he sounded. So was Mr. Nikiforov apparently, as his eyes widened at Yuuri's words.

“It was much less of strenuous task than you think, Mr. Katsuki. It was about time for me to do an interview anyway.”

“In the past you have refused to do in person interviews, yet you agreed to meet with me. Why?”

Mr. Nikiforov looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied. “I did a few in person interviews back when I was modeling, and they were incredibly superficial. Once I got into the business side of the fashion industry, I expected to be treated a little more seriously. That didn't happen. But so much time has passed since then, so I decided to give the media another chance.”

Maybe Yuuri had gotten all worked up for nothing. So far, Mr. Nikiforov was responding really well and was agreeable and surprisingly open. But deep down, he knew that once he asked _the_ question, Mr. Nikiforov's friendly nature would certainly change.

“Well, me and everyone else at the Hasetsu Times, appreciates you agreeing to an interview.” Yuuri looked down at his list. “In the last few issues, it's been noted that the focus _The Magazine's_ interviews with it's month's featured celebrity has shifted to concentrate on their careers and less on their personal lives like most other fashion magazines, or magazines in general do. What was the thinking behind that decision and how involved were you in that change?”

Mr. Nikiforov smiled at him and leaned back in his chair. _Good,_ Yuuri thought, _he's comfortable. All i have to do is keep him that way long enough for him to let his guard down and I'll get what I need._

* * *

Yuuri continued to ask more questions related to the magazine, Mr. Nikiforov's career at _The Magazine,_ and even got the man to start volunteering information. As the interview went on Mr. Nikiforov appeared to be less and less like a man cut from marble and more like an excited puppy. He talked about his poodle, who had the softest fur and an obsession with Japanese food.

“I have no idea why Makkachin goes nuts for Japanese cuisine. I bought her an eggroll once as a treat for doing so well at the doggie daycare when I was out of town, but she _refused_ to even touch the damn thing.” Mr. Nikiforov threw his head back and gave a dramatic sigh, his body nearly hanging off over the arm of his chair.

Yuuri wanted to laugh at the man, or at least take a picture. He was surprisingly enjoying himself in what was supposed to be a stressful interview. But as he looked down at his list, he felt his throat tighten up and his heart began to race.

“Recently there has been some controversy over the resignation of your _The Magazine's_ Art Director.” At his words, Mr Nikiforov sat up, but Yuuri refused to look at his face. He was terrified if he did, he would never ask _the_ question. “Some have speculated that she was let go because she had damaging information  about you, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Yuuri looked up at the platinum haired man. Gone was the relaxed posture and excitement in his face. Mr. Nikiforov was tense and sitting almost deathly still, his eyes hard as ice, the first time in the entire interview that they had seemed unkind. He knew that he would have to take whatever Mr. Nikiforov threw his way, his job depended on his success. Yuuri took a deep breath and asked _the_ question. But instead of _the_ question, he said this:

“Mr. Nikiforov, who is Winner McWinnerson?”

Oh fuck.

He wanted the floor to burst open and swallow him alive. What had he been thinking?

He stood up moving away from the general vicinity of Viktor.

_Winner McWinnerson?_

Why would he say that?

He could feel all the previous peace leaving him and he found himself nervously chewing on his lip, trying not to let the extreme anxiety creep into his expression as his heart started pounding wildly, and he could feel sweat beading down the back of his neck.

He needed to do this. He needed to look him in the eye. He could do this.

He lifted his head, bracing himself for the wrath of Viktor Nikiforov but instead he was met with sharp blue eyes trained on him, looking almost thoughtful. He licked his lips awkwardly, watching as Viktor’s eyes followed his movement.

He pressed his lips together immediately.

“Yuuri?” His voice was warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something.

“Yes?” he breathed, his hands shaking and he clasped his pen tightly trying to steady himself. He wanted to look away from him, he wanted to stop the prickling sensation that overwhelmed him when he felt his eyes on him. He just wanted to leave and go home and cry to Phichit.

He wanted comfort, and he wanted safety, but he also really wanted to not lose his job. He swallowed, maintained eye-contact and aimed for a smile. It felt wrong on his face.

“You look nervous.”

He was moving closer, his pace unhurried, and Yuuri could feel himself clamming up. He let out a shaky breath and prayed to every deity out there that Viktor hadn’t heard him.

“I’m not,” he responded, his eyes trained on the slight sway in Viktor’s step, the fabric of his velvet trousers wrapped artistically around his long legs. He didn’t look real. He couldn’t be human at least.

He was almost in front of him.

Yuuri steeled himself.

“Are you still not nervous?” A smile was playing on Viktor’s lips, and the predatory tinge to it raised his heart rate once again. He let his pen drop, and it fell with a soft thud.

“It seems like you want me to be,” he managed, his voice surprisingly steady.

Viktor’s smile widened.

“You’re very perceptive Mr. Katsuki.”

He took a deep breath.

“It comes with the job description, Mr Nikiforov.”

If someone asked him twenty years later of this day, he’d be able to pinpoint the exact second the dangerous glint entered Viktor’s eyes and his smile became more teeth.

“Does the job description include overall gorgeous, because you seem to fit that too.”

Yuuri blinked.

“Ah. No, I’m sure no such credentials are required,” he said slowly, “Were you interested in applying, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“I’m _very_ interested Mr Katsuki,” he purred, close enough that Yuuri could smell the expensive cologne and aftershave from his skin. He assumed both those things cost more than his entire wardrobe and pushing the thought to the depths of his mind tried to focus.

His interview, his job. He had to do better. Aim higher.

Viktor just happened to be his one way ticket to climbing the ranks. That’s all this was, a way for Yuuri to go up.

Viktor was just a man and he could do this. A gorgeous man, breathtaking in his beauty and Yuuri was sure if he was drunk enough he could wax poetic about his eyes all night, but sadly he was here. Sober and staring into said eyes.

Said eyes were going to make him lose his job if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m sure you’d be a considerable applicant for the Hastesu Times,” he replied, taking a small step back; Without missing a beat, Viktor languidly followed, backing him against the desk.

“What about for you Mr Katsuki?”

Yuuri found himself curling inwards, his shoulders slumping. He was getting more nervous the closer Viktor was getting, and Viktor was _too close_ , too fast, too much. He could feel his eyes on him, and he felt like he was being stripped bare for the taller man to scrutinise.

He swallowed.

“I don’t understand your question,” he said slowly, hoping he didn’t sound too stupid. Viktor tilted his head, his lips curving downwards in an exaggerated frown. Yuuri wondered how he managed to look so attractive while pulling such an ugly expression.

_He probably practised in front of the mirror._

Or maybe Yuuri had the misfortune of walking into the office of someone who wasn’t entirely human.

“My dear Mr Katsuki,” Viktor sighed dramatically, his hair falling over his eyes, his face close enough for Yuuri to feel his cool breath on his skin.

His heart stuttered, and dear God he was going to lose his job if he didn’t pull himself together.

“Yes?”

“You asked me such a strange question, it startled me,” Viktor said softly, moving closer still. The velvet of his suit was soft against his skin, and he swallowed, leaning backwards. Viktor placed his arms on either side of him on the desk, effectively caging him.

“Ah… I hope you aren’t opposed to answering, Mr Nikiforov. I- I mean I’m sorry if I offended you,” he mumbled, pushing at his glasses, and looking over his shoulder. There was no sign of dandruff either, not that any rich person he knew had dandruff.

Not that he knew anyone rich at all.

“No, you didn’t offend me at all darling.”

He could feel himself flushing, he must be the colour of the communist manifesto. It fit he supposed, Viktor was Russian after all.

“Do I get an answer then?” he asked softly, feeling braver by the fact that Viktor didn’t outright deny him.

Viktor smiled, his eyes half-lidded.

“Convince me and maybe you will.”

Yuuri was ready to leave. He’d dropped his pen, and probably his dignity along with it, and he was ready to leave. The mortification that he had somehow managed to suppress at his situation was catching up to him, and he felt his heart stutter.

“Er- I think my boss sent me here to interview you- and-” he sucked in a deep breath, trying to move further away from Viktor so he could _think._ He hit the edge of the desk awkwardly, slipping backwards, and his hands shot forward grabbing onto the the first thing that would keep him upright.

Unfortunately for him that just happened to be Viktor’s thousand dollar Saint Laurent velvet suit. He could feel the satin trimmings straining in protest under his fingers and he prayed to God they wouldn’t rip. His worries were unfounded as Viktor’s hands encircled his waist steadying him. He’d tugged at the fabric enough to drag down the silk shirt underneath it and Yuuri caught the faintest glint of silver around Viktor’s neck before his gaze was torn away when he started speaking.

“If you wanted to get your hands on me there were better ways to do it,” he chuckled, removing his hands from Yuuri’s waist and straightening his clothes. Yuuri could feel his mouth fall open, as his mind processed those words and he hastily shoved at him, scrambling away.

“Um- my boss- sorry for your thousand doll- could we reschedule Mr Nikiforov,” Yuuri stuttered. He could feel his anxiety level shooting up several magnitudes on the Richter scale and he needed to leave. He needed to get away from him.

Something flashed across Viktor’s face, and before he could pinpoint the emotion, his carefully crafted pleasant expression had returned. He shot Yuuri a charming smile.

“I’ll let you know.”

Yuuri nodded, suppressing his disappointment and rushed out of the office.

* * *

When Yuuri opened the door he was immediately ambushed by Phichit. He didn’t get a chance to announce his presence or say hi before he found himself in the kitchen sitting at their small table. Phichit bustled around digging out their celebratory tea and putting it to boil. Yuuri let himself be dragged back to the familiarity of their small messy flat and Phichit’s endless chatter, and he took a deep breath trying to forget the day's events.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and nodding along to what Phichit was saying he absently pulled it out switching on the screen.

He froze.

His breath hitched as he read the lone text.

‘Meet me at ‘ _The Chicken in the Fridge._ ’ 1pm. Dress sharp.'

That was not a sentence Yuuri had ever expected to read from Viktor Nikiforov, and only he could make it sound hot, really hot.

Phichit had paused his excited bustling to stare at Yuuri.

“Why do you look like you just orgasmed? What are you looking at?” he asked, and because he was a good best friend he lunged for his phone.

Yuuri let out a strangled cry holding the phone to his chest, and valiantly struggled against Phichit’s attempts to pry the phone from his fingers. They continued for a few more seconds before Yuuri broke and Phichit snatched it from him with a celebratory ‘aha’.

He switched the phone on, and Yuuri gulped watching him closely.

There was silence.

“Is Viktor fucking Nikiforov asking you to dinner?!” he screeched, making Yuuri flinch.

“Uh… Yes?”

Phichit gasped, tossing his phone aside to launch himself unceremoniously at Yuuri.

“Look at my baby all grown up, we need to celebrate _so hard_.” He announced, pulling away and pinching at Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri swatted at him, his heart still not steady after the text he’d received.

“It’s not like that Phichit. I couldn’t get everything I wanted so we decided to reschedule our interview,” Yuuri replied indignantly, rubbing his cheeks and pouting at the other boy.

Phichit slid into the chair across from him, resting his face on his hand and tilted his head.

“So… What was he like anyway?”

He wiggled his eyebrows making Yuuri flush. He slapped his arm lightly.

“He was…” He licked his lips trying to put into words the entirety of Viktor Nikiforov.

“Polite.”

“Intense.”

“Smart.”

The image of Viktor pressing into him, the lingering smell of his cologne, and his breath hot on his neck flashed into his mind. He buried his face in his arms, huffing softly.

“Really kind of intimidating.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri relies on liquid courage to prepare him for the evening with Viktor.
> 
> Viktor finds out Yuuri has more tricks up sleeve than he, and his heart, can handle.

He’d gone through a wardrobe worth of clothes but none of them felt right. Some were too tight, some were too loose, and others were just plain ugly and Yuuri was a minute away from completely cancelling everything and crumbling to the ground to cry dramatically.

 

The man had said to dress ‘ _sharp_.’ What did that even mean?

 

Surely he had seen Yuuri in his loose sweater and nerd boy clothing at the interview and decided he wasn’t one to know _anything_ about clothes.

 

He turned to Phichit in a moment of blind panic.The boy was a blessing, a fashionable one. A blessing that was currently sat on the counter top eating _his_ share of liquorice strings. He spared himself a moment to glare at him which Phichit expertly ignored.

 

“What’s up?” he asked, not looking up from his phone screen.

 

Yuuri sighed, leaned against the door frame, and desperately hoped his wallowing would make Phichit look at him.

 

He sighed again, louder, finally catching Phichit’s attention. He looked towards him with raised eyebrows.

 

“Is it date time?” he asked innocently.

 

Yuuri could see it in his expression, the feigned ignorance, the barely noticeable twitching of his lips. He’d been waiting for Yuuri to drive himself up a wall and come begging to him for help so that he could ask for something horrific in return.

 

“It’s not a date,” he said uselessly, and Phichit shot him a blinding smile.

He jumped off the countertop and moved around the kitchen, making his way to their small alcohol stash which basically consisted of cheap beer and travel size bottles of wine.

Yuuri had a bad feeling about where this was headed even before Phichit had pulled out three bottles of wine and lined them up in front of him.

 

“You’re going to need liquid courage for this.”

 

Yuuri groaned, not denying him and moved to grab a bottle.

“I wish it was stronger.”

 

“No, no you really don’t. We don’t want you stripping off and grinding on him, leading to you losing your job. We just want you to be suave and confident.”

He mournfully looked at the small bottle in his hand, making quick work of downing it and hoping to get at least mildly buzzed before he was faced with whatever outrageous event was going to take place this evening.

 

His whole job was on the line, and there was no way he was going to let his nerves get in the way of his end goal.

 

He winced at the flat flavour, licking away the taste of old plum and cherries he picked up the next bottle, making his way back to his room, presumably to where Phichit had disappeared to.

When he entered he froze.

 

Somehow, from his entire wardrobe, Phichit had managed to find the one outfit that was his hidden shame. He shot Yuuri a shit-eating grin, the offending item in his hand and Yuuri wanted to just bury himself alive. He stared in horror as Phichit picked his way towards him, gingerly avoiding stepping over his faded hoodies.

 

“I can’t wear _those._ ” He choked out, his eyes running over the pants in Phichit’s arms.

Phichit thrust them into his hands.

 

“You can and you will.”

 

Yuuri stared at him.

 

“I-I-”

 

He turned back to the item of clothing in his grip, the leather soft in his hands. Phichit had forced Yuuri to buy them when they’d first moved in together, and Yuuri, still riding on a high from their new flat had conceded. It hadn’t taken him too long to realise what a huge mistake that had been.

Now, he was finally face to face with his deepest regrets in the form of tight fitting leather pants.

He tossed them aside, throwing them on his bed, and uncapping the bottle of wine he chugged it.

 

When he tossed the cheap bottle aside Phichit was grinning at him.

 

“Oh no.”

 

Phichit pulled up a silky floral shirt, and Yuuri stared at the faded greens and peaches in horror.

“ _Oh no.”_

 

He’d went to seek out Phichit in the form of a blessing but the truth of the matter was that Phichit was cruel, and evil, and he most definitely wanted Yuuri to die. He wanted Yuuri to humiliate himself in the worst way possible so that he could record it and get his social media fame at its peak.

 

It’d be worse than the time Yuuri had drunkenly read the whole of ‘Rough and Ready’ by Sandra Hills, complete with horse sound effects for the ‘galloping abs’ line.

 

The whole affair had strengthened Phichit’s and Yuuri’s friendship much more than before.There was something intrinsically intimate about reading published erotica that contained descriptions such as ‘Spongy love mountain’ or ‘Buttermilk bosoms.’ A wholesome, yet mortifying experience- one that neither of them could forget.

 

The video was still somewhere in Phichit’s phone and even Phichit wasn’t cruel enough to bring it up.

 

Yuuri groaned out loud and Phichit elbowed him.

 

“I know what you’re thinking about Yuuri, and please, _please-_ This isn’t the time for epic, erotic romances.”

 

Yuuri dropped his head on Phichit’s shoulder and groaned even louder.

Phichit shook with barely suppressed laughter, patting his back.

 

“ _His shame made him hotter…_ ” he whispered, deepening his voice.

 

Yuuri shoved him, grabbing the leather pants and ugly floral shirt. Phichit started uncontrollably giggling.

 

“Hotter for sex!” Yuuri flipped him off, leaving the room to get dressed. He took in a shaky breath pushing his bangs back. He should gel them.

 

This was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

According to Google, _The Chicken in the Fridge_ was a trendy, yet casual restaurant with a pub like atmosphere. But as Yuuri walked towards the building he could see customers entering the building in much nicer clothing than his own, parking their expensive cars out front and handing their keys to a valet.  
  
_Oh shit_ , he thought. _I should've known better_.   
  
Viktor had expensive taste, he figured that out quickly from the interview. But he hadn't thought that Viktor would invite him to dinner at such a fancy place. He could feel his bank account empty as he walked through the doors of _The_ _Chicken in the Fridge_.

 

The entire restaurant was a work of art. Mirrors lined the walls and 20 or more circular tables with white linen cloths were arranged around a fountain that stood in the middle of the room. The statue in the fountain was of a fit bearded man, most likely Jesus, holding his wee as water streamed out of it onto a open book laying on a rock beneath him. Yuuri walked towards the fountain, intrigued at the odd design. He tilted his head to get a better look at the vandalized stone book and saw that he could read the title. _50 Shades of Gr-_

 

“Excuse me, sir” a waiter said as he attempted to walk around Yuuri and towards a table he was serving. Yuuri looked at the table and noticed that the glasses were _gold plated._

 

It was too much. The alcohol that had calmed his nerves enough to leave his apartment wasn't strong enough to prepare him _this_ monstrosity of a situation. Some people would be pleasantly surprised to find that they'd been invited to a lavish dinner, but Yuuri was certainly not one of those people. Yuuri had never been poor, but he'd had an uncomfortable relationship with money that led him to shy away from places like this. However, he had a job to do; to get Viktor Nikiforov to give him enough information for his debut article. He needed to keep it together.

 

“Excuse me, sir.” Someone behind Yuuri said, interrupting his thoughts.

 

Yuuri turned towards the voice. “Yes?”

 

“Do you have a reservation? Are you looking for your party?” asked a well dressed man. Yuuri would have thought he was a diner if it had not been for the name tag on his suit jacket.

 

“Oh, um, … I think so. I'm supposed to meet him at one.”

 

The man sighed heavily. “What is the name of your party, sir?”

 

“I, um, I don't know.”

 

“Sir, if you not know your party name, we cannot confirm your reservation. We're going to have to ask you to leave.”

 

“No! Please sir, I'm meeting someone here.” Yuuri frantically explained.

 

The employee raised a brow. “Really?” He looked Yuuri up and down, seemingly assessing Yuuri’s appearance rather than his words. Another exasperated sigh left the man. “Let's try this again. What is the name of the person you are meeting? Perhaps the reservation is under his name.”

 

Yuuri gulped, hoping his pronunciation was correct this time. “Vicktor _Niliforov.”_

 

The employee’s eyes widened. “Nili- Nikiforov?? Right this way sir. I am so terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Right this way sir.” The man quickly walked towards the bar of the restaurant with Yuuri following. Once at the bar, Yuuri walked towards one of the stools and began to sit down.

 

“No, sir. Mr. Nikiforov has reserved a private table for your dinner.” The man motioned to a curtain next to the bar. Yuuri walked over to it and the employee pulled back the curtain to reveal a private dining room with a single round table in the middle of it. The lighting in this room was more dim than the main area, and Yuuri realized after a moment that the room was entirely lit by candles that placed all around the room. There had to be about 100 at least.

 

Yuuri felt heat rush to his face.

 

 _It's not a date it's not a date it's not a date,_ Yuuri chanted in his head. However impressively romantic the atmosphere was, Yuuri had to remember that this wasn't anything beyond work.

 

But Yuuri couldn't deny how it _looked_. He took a seat at the table and the staff member who'd escorted him walked back to the curtain they'd entered the private room through. Yuuri watched as the man frantically waved at someone, and a few moments later a waiter passed through the curtain with a cart carrying a bottle of champagne on ice.

 

The waiter parked the cart next to Yuuri's table. “Welcome to the Chicken in the Fridge, where excellent service and food is our specialty. Would you like some champagne, sir?”

 

Yuuri was already somewhat tipsy, but the waiter had already popped open the bottle of champagne.

 

“Um, sure. Why not.” The waiter filled Yuuri's glass and Yuuri lifted the glass to his lips taking a sip. It was, by far, the best alcohol Yuuri had ever had, much better than Phichit’s cheap beer and travel-sized wine bottles.

 

“Um, sir? Do you know when Mr. _Niliforov_ is going to be here?” Yuuri felt only a slight twinge of anxiety now, the expensive champagne obviously was calming his nerves much better than what he'd consumed earlier. But, as Yuuri checked his phone, he saw that it was ten minutes after the meeting time, and Viktor hadn't shown up.

 

“Well, Mr. Nikiforov has a history of being, well, fashionably late. I wouldn't expect him to be here until at least twenty minutes after the hour.”

 

And then Yuuri's anxiety spiked again. He was going to have to wait for the most intimidating man he'd ever met, by himself, in an uncomfortably expensive restaurant, with leather pants on.

 

“More champagne, sir?”

 

Yuuri held out his glass. “Yes. Just fill up the whole glass.”

 

After thirty more minutes had passed, Viktor Niliforov showed up. He practically waltzed past the curtain and leisurely sat down across from Yuuri. His eyes were just as icy as he'd remembered them.

 

“Sorry, Yuuri. I had something to do at work and just couldn't leave in time.” The lie rolled off his tongue so deliciously that Yuuri almost wanted to believe him- but he could tell from Viktor's satisfied smirk that it was bullshit.

 

“Excuse me?” Viktor asked. His cold blue eyes had gone wide in surprise. Yuuri realized he had said what he'd been thinking out loud. The alcohol had awoken a boldness in him he hadn't known even existed. And Yuuri certainly was going to take advantage of the new found confidence while he still had it.

 

“I said, _hic._ Bull. Shit.” Yuuri raised his glass for the waiter and the man nervously poured him another glass. Yuuri had lost track on how many glasses he'd had, but it had been enough that the waiter had tried to cut him off. But drunk Yuuri was a bold Yuuri, and he may have threatened the man if he stopped his supply of alcohol.

 

Viktor cleared his throat. “Well, you can believe whatever you want, but I actually _was_ stuck dealing with an issue at work.”

 

Yuuri, who was in the middle of intaking his zillionth glass of champagne, side eyed Viktor.

 

“Mhmm. _Sure._ Whatever you say.”

 

Yuuri finished his glass and when he looked back at Viktor, he noticed the man's cheeks were flushed and his eyes no longer wore the icy intimidating sheen that made Yuuri almost shiver in fear. The way that Viktor was looking at him was something that Yuuri decided he wanted to remember for the rest of his life; Viktor Nikiforov’s gorgeous face when he's caught off guard. Without thinking much about what he was doing, Yuuri set down his glass and reached out to brush Viktor's bangs to the side. Yuuri watched in satisfaction as the blush on Viktor's face grew darker.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov, what will you be having to drink?” Viktor turned his attention to the waiter and Yuuri reluctantly pulled back his hand.

 

“I think a glass of champagne will do-”

 

“Hold up.” Yuuri interrupted. He reached across the table to retrieve the drink menu he'd flipped through while waiting for Viktor to arrive. “I wanna try a couple of these. The _least_ you could do is buy me a drink or two after making me wait.”

 

“Well, I'm actually paying for dinner-”

 

“I don't care!” Yuuri loudly interrupted. He turned and faced their server. “I want _hic,_ I want a, uh, just a minute.” Yuuri clumsily picked up the menu and forced his eyes to focus, but the words were indecipherable to him. He settled for holding the menu out to the waiter and pointing at the drinks he wanted.

 

“You would like a ‘Mex on the first date’ and a ‘Get lucky’?”

 

“That's it.” Yuuri took the drink menu and flung it at Viktor. “Now you can order.”

 

Viktor's eyes had grown impossibly wider than before, and no longer did his posture exude the aura that usually led Yuuri's confidence to crawl deep into it's shell. Watching as Viktor clumsily opened the drink menu reminded Yuuri of the glimpse of vulnerability he'd seen Viktor during the interview. It made Viktor seem almost cute.

 

Viktor ordered his drink, a white Russian. _How appropriate,_ Yuuri thought. Viktor also ordered their meals and an appetizer. The waiter quickly left to put on their orders.

 

“I don't see why I couldn't have ordered for myself, _Mr. Niliforov._ ”

 

Viktor, of course, even in his flustered state, had a quick answer. “I've eaten here dozens of times. I know which meals are the best. And I what you'll need to eat to soothe your stomach, after you've consumed what appears to be a bottle and a half of champagne.”

 

Yuuri grumbled and curled into himself. Mr. Perfect was not only incredibly good looking, uncomfortably wealthy, but considerate as well. The whole situation made Yuuri want to pull out his pubic hair. But this wasn't the time to let frustration overwhelm him. He needed to keep his cool. He couldn't let this opportunity to get conclusive information for his article go to waste.

 

Determinedly, Yuuri straightened in his seat at look Viktor in the eyes, leaning across the table. Viktor stiffened and clenched his champagne glass tighter, as if preparing himself for whatever Yuuri was going to do.

 

“You, _hic,_ know why I'm here. You know what I want from you. I've read what your ex employee wrote, about what you're hiding and are willing to do to keep your secret.”

 

Viktor paled considerably at Yuuri's words, a stark contrast to the lobster red blush he sported just moments before. His eyes appeared to be glazing over with the same icy sheen that Viktor had when he first arrived.

 

“And what secret, Mr. Katsuki, do I have that is so damning?” Viktor firmly set his glass down on the table and swallowed loudly.

 

A muscle in his right cheek twitched, as if he was holding back a strong emotion.

 

“You and your paper seem to believe that our art director was let go for trying to expose me and my ‘secret’. So tell me, I want to hear you say it,” Viktor stood up from his chair, placing both hands on the table, and leaned menacingly across the table towards Yuuri. “What secret do I have that's so important the world must know?”

Viktor's voice had increased in volume as he spoke, and Yuuri could've sworn that even the glassware had trembled. But Yuuri was a stubborn man, and with enough alcohol to kill an elephant running through his veins, he was also an assertive one.

 

Yuuri quickly stood up and leaned towards Viktor, leaving their faces only centimetres apart. He opened his mouth:

 

“I'll tell you exactly what you're hiding Mr. Nikiforov! You're into…..um, you're into….wait, what was it again?”

 

Yuuri felt fuzzy headed all of a sudden and sat back in his chair. His train of thought had suddenly vanished and he felt very disoriented. Why was he here again? Oh, to meet Mr. Nikiforov, of course. But… why again?

 

Viktor seemed to have noticed Yuuri's sudden shift behavior. After all, he'd watched the man go from irate to puzzled in less than a minute. Yuuri sat back down in chair, staring intently at the table cloth.

 

“I…” he started, struggling to find his words. “I don't, _hic,_ remember what i was going to say.”

 

Yuuri was so confused. What he had to say was important, but his drunken brain couldn't find what he needed to say. Embarrassingly, he felt tears spring to his eyes, but quickly inhaled them back into his eyeballs as the waiter shuffled back into the room with their drinks.

 

Yuuri watched as the server quickly set their drinks on the table and left. Viktor's expression again had changed drastically from indignant to puzzled and almost concerned. Yuuri knew Viktor must have seen his pathetic tears. To conceal his humiliation, Yuuri downed both of his drinks, mumbling over the insensitive nature of restaurant to have such offensively named cocktails between gulps.

 

When he slammed the second glass down, he looked at Viktor's face and felt satisfaction ripple through him. Viktor's mouth was hanging open in shock and his drink was held half way up to his lips, as if he'd frozen in place. Yuuri reached across the table and yanked the glass away from Viktor. As Viktor's eyes went impossibly large in surprise, Yuuri felt a surge of strange confidence roll over him.

 

“This isn't the only white russian I want to taste tonight.” He watched as Viktor's face took on that lovely fire engine red blush he'd worn earlier. Yuuri lazily downed Viktor's drink and slammed the glass on the table, breaking the glass. Fragments of the gold plated glass flew everywhere; inside the empty glasses, all over Yuuri's side of the table, even some landed in the strands of Viktor's bangs.

 

Yuuri jumped from his seat. “Oh-oh my god. I am so sorry! Are you okay??”

 

Viktor jerked backwards in his seat at Yuuri's outburst. He carefully reached up into his hair and then shook pieces of glass from his bangs. Yuuri slapped his hand to his mouth in shock. He hadn't meant to hurt the man, just wanted to make him as uncomfortable as Viktor had made him during the interview. Tears spilled down his cheeks and choked on a muffled sob.

 

“Hey, it's fine. I'm okay.” The words came out in a quick rush from Viktor's mouth. Yuuri looked up from his lap at the platinum haired man, surprised to see Viktor with an extremely concerned look on his face. “Please don't cry, Yuuri I have no idea how to comfort people when the cry.”

 

Yuuri pulled his hand away from his mouth. “But I hurt you.”

 

“Yuuri I'm okay. See?” Viktor lifted his hair off his forehead so Yuuri could see that the skin had not been broken. Yuuri just cried harder. “Yuuri, what's wrong? I'm okay, unharmed. I'm not even bleeding.”

 

Yuuri gasped through his tears. “I just, _hic,_ I didn't mean to-”

 

“Shhhh it's okay.” Viktor reached across the table and grasped one of Yuuri's hands, rubbing his thumb across Yuuri's knuckles. “I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It was an accident.”

 

“But, still. It wouldn't have happened if- _hic_ \- if I hadn't been trying to-”

 

“Yuuri, it's ok. It's partially my fault too. I tried using my ‘arriving extremely late’ tactic on you, when I shouldn't have. I knew you wouldn't react well, but I wasn't expecting you to get smashed.” Viktor sighed heavily. “Look, I don't want to talk about your interview tonight. You're far too drunk, and I, honestly, I feel incredibly ashamed for purposely stressing out someone with anxiety.” Yuuri flushed at Viktor's mention of his anxiety, realizing his act of confidence must have been incredibly transparent.

 

“So, while the reason we're here together isn't pleasant, let's just enjoy our dinner. We can save our _talk_ for another day. I'll have Chris schedule another appointment for this week.”

 

“Why, _hic,_ why is the reason we're here not pleasant?” Yuuri dazedly asked.

 

Viktor quietly laughed, a small smile gracing his perfect lips. “It doesn't matter now. I'll make sure that the next place we meet doesn't serve alcohol, too.”

 

The next several minutes were spent with them conversing, which mostly consisted of Viktor trying to control Yuuri's behavior. Though Viktor had successfully stopped Yuuri from continuing to drink, even having to forcefully take back the champagne bottle Yuuri plucked from their nervous server’s hands. Yuuri could feel his BAC rising as his body began absorbing the short-bus load of alcohol he'd consumed in a single evening.

 

“Vik, _hic,_ Viky!” Yuuri called across the table, waving his fork with a chunk of eggplant parmesan on the end of it. He had lost all will to sit up properly in his chair, and decided to lay his top half of his body across it.

 

Viktor looked, somehow, not annoyed, but almost affectionate. He smiled at Yuuri across the table. “Yes, Yuuri? What is it? Do you want the waiter to come back and flambe your spaghetti again?”

 

Yuuri huffed in frustration, searching for the words to say. He was _so_ phenomenally plastered. “Vik-Viktooooorrr. I wanna, I- I wanna do something fun. This eating food crap is boring.” Yuuri dropped his fork onto his plate and reached across the table to grab one food items. When he picked it up, the food moved.

 

“What the hell?”

 

“Yuuri, that is San-nakji, live octopus.”

 

Yuuri, who was normally squeamish, was too sloshed to give a shit, and found humor in Viktor's morbid dish. “Viktor! It's dancing!” The tentacle continued to wriggle between Yuuri's fingers, wrapping itself around one of them. “Look! It's pole dancing, _Niliforov_!”

 

Viktor looked amused. “It certainly is. Why don't you eat if you're-”

 

“Did you know I can pole dance?”

 

“What?” Viktor's words came out weirdly high pitched, and his face was once again baboon butt red.

 

“I can, _hic._ I can pole dance.” Yuuri stood from his chair, with a surprising amount of steadiness. “I'll show you if you want, _Mr. Nikiforov.”_

 

Yuuri stepped away from the table and walked towards the curtain leading separating them from the main room. He pulled back the curtain and looked over his shoulder at Viktor, appreciating his flustered, handsome face. He walked past the curtain letting it fall, and it was the last moment he could recall from that night.

 

Viktor stared at his back, slowly disappearing past the curtain that fell back to cover the well lit reserved area.

 

At least ten of the hundred candles had melted and went out, but the room was still glowing beautifully. He wasn’t paying attention though.

 

He sat for a few seconds, processing the events that had just taken place, his heart thudding painfully quickly, his thoughts racing. His hand was trembling as he reached for his glass of Chateau Margaux 2009 Balthazar, and he swallowed down a few gulps before he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering from the main area.

 

The waiters cast a concerned look over their shoulder and before he realised it, he was on his feet, sliding out of his chair and making his way through the curtain, to the main area. He could hear shouting, there was some sort of commotion happening around the violin corner. Viktor saw a whole trolley of cutlery overturned, shards of gold scattered across the red carpet and waiters frantically running around cleaning it.

 

He watched with wide eyes as Yuuri emerged from the crowd, bowing with a flourish in front of the first woman he saw and pulling her from her partners’ side into an exaggerated spin. She looked too startled to do anything but spin, grabbing Yuuri’s arms when he dipped her low and straightened back up.

 

Even from the distance Viktor could see the shift in her expression, the slow smile on her face. He felt his gut twist when Yuuri laughed, spinning her away. She laughed too, and the feeling in gut seemed to spread through him, attacking other vital organs probably. He felt sick.

He felt like he was being reborn.

 

It felt like he was watching a miracle take place, the violins seemed livelier, Dimitri Shostakovich’s, ‘The Second Waltz’ seemed livelier, the whole drab, formal area looked livelier. Yuuri swung from one partner to another, his laughter never fading, and his eyes not even moving from their faces. The staff had cleared away the damage completely halfway through ‘Under the Sky Of Paris’ and some had stopped to watch. Yuuri seemed to gracefully make his way through the whole room, completely bypassing Viktor much to his chagrin and surprise, pulling their waiter from earlier into the tango and grinning when the man let out a startled laugh.

 

It was jealousy he realised with a start. Maybe regret.

 

He knew he’d messed up the moment Yuuri had uttered the words: ‘Bull shit.’

 

He knew he shouldn’t have been petty enough to arrive so late just to teach the young writer a lesson, but he had struck a nerve with Viktor, bringing up the Winner McWinnerson question. Viktor was an undeniably private person, private in the sense of his past. He loved social media, he thrived off the attention, but his past, his few secrets, were his and his alone, and another reporter had tried to get him to drop his shields and charm his way into making Viktor tell him everything. He’d worked too hard for anything like that to ever happen again.

 

Not after the previous scandal. He couldn’t fall for this cute Japanese boy’s easy charms, but God was that hard not to do.

 

He turned back to Yuuri, who had forgone the waiter in favour of… the fountain in the middle of the room. He’d dropped his hideous green floral shirt that Viktor had wanted to burn as soon as he set his eyes on it, and it was half draped over the renaissance statues arm.

 

Yuuri stood in all his gorgeous shirtless glory, his butt prominent in those sinful leather pants, directly under the large Jesus’s penis.

 

A waiter seemed to move as if to call Yuuri to get out but Viktor stopped him, watching mesmerised as Yuuri used the statues dick as a handhold to climb it. He was graceful, even when completely drunk and balancing dangerously on the statues’ meat thermometre*.

 

He threw his arms around the golden Jesus’s neck, his hands cupping its face and he _moved._ He spun, somehow still balanced on his jerky stick*. Viktor moved too, awkwardly hovering at the edge of the fountain in case Yuuri fell, but Yuuri seemed to be having the time of his life.

 

He grinded up against the arm of Jesus, sliding to his knees seductively and turning his head to look straight at viktor as he unbuttoned his pants. Anticipation hung heavy over his head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flooded his belly – as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as he tried to imagine what he would do to him. Yuuri licked his lips, wrapping his legs around Jesus’s pied piper*, rolling his hips in a way that made him want to weep.

 

Gone was the shy, nervous man from the interview. Yuuri’s pants had fallen open to reveal his boxers and Viktor was a simple man who couldn’t help but admire beauty and booty when he saw it.

 

“Vicktor Niliforov,” he said loudly, and his heart seemed to stop beating when their eyes met. Yuuri tipped his head back, baring the milky white skin of throat in the most enticing way, and Viktor swallowed. “Do you always act like such a jerk?”

 

Viktor didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond. He just watched as Yuuri shucked off his pants, somehow the whole affair entirely obscene as he was still seated on renaissance Jesus’s wang doodle*. His body moved like he was dancing, the simplest of movements the most graceful things he could have ever dreamed to witness. His eyes traced over the muscles of Yuuri’s arms, the soft curve of his back and-

 

“Just because-” Yuuri started again, his voice slurred, tossing the leather atrocity into the water, revealing smooth, built thighs, “-your ass looks great in thousand dollar suits, doesn’t mean-” he stood up again, his ass pressed against Jesus’s shoulder, “You can scare the shit out of me.”

He ran his hand through his slicked back bangs, a few falling out of place, and the sight made him ache. Yuuri was ethereal. Sweaty, wet from the fountain water, and just shy of completely naked. His eyes were hazy from the alcohol, his cheeks pink and he was achingly beautiful. He was the real sight to behold, not the stupid Jesus statue pissing on the god awful book. That was saying something, seeing as he’d been part of the shareholders in the restaurant that had commissioned the statue.

 

He saw other guests watching the display, looking just as awed as he felt.

“Did you, Mr _Niliforov_ , think,” he slid again, and Viktor nearly jumped into the water, expecting him to fall any second. He didn’t; He hung upside down, his leg muscles straining visibly, using Jesus’s holy cucumber* as a griphold. He swung, his face flushed, his expression annoyed, as if this wasn’t a physical challenge for him. As if he was used to hanging upside down using leg and core strength alone. Viktor had genuinely thought he’d seen everything. Apparently not. And he definitely did not expect to find it so sexy. “Oi, pay attention to me!”

 

Viktor’s head snapped up, and he found himself staring into foggy eyes like melting margarine- the kind you wouldn’t believe wasn’t butter.

 

“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

 

Yuuri huffed, his expression horrifically endearing, even in his inebriated state. He pulled himself up, sliding off Jesus’s eggplant-emoji*, and staggering forward. He made his way through the water, sitting on the stone replica of ‘Fifty shades of Gre-’, directly under the stream of water.

The water ran through his hair, down his neck, tracing the soft ridges and lines of his skin like a soft caress. Droplets clung to his eyelashes, and his lips glistened with the moisture. God, he wished that was him.

 

“You’re going to get me fired. But _I_ won’t let you get me fired,” he slurred, tilting his head.

He felt his fantasies stop short there. He couldn’t be doing this. He couldn’t be falling in love with the man whose job dictated that he possibly ruin Viktor’s hard earned reputation. He couldn’t do that to himself surely.

 

He met Yuuri’s eyes, wide, imploring, determined. Beautiful.

 

Surely he shouldn’t do that.

 

Yuuri stood up, his boxers soaked completely. He stared determinedly at his face, even as he grabbed a bottle of Chateau Mouton-Rothschild 1945, uncapped it and started chugging it. He kept his eyes on Yuuri as he made his way towards him.

 

“You have such incredibly blue eyes, like the blue lube we should use later, it's scary as shit, I’d sabotage my career for them,” he whispered, throwing his arms around his shoulders and soaking his thousand dollar Alexander McQueen. He didn’t mind though, because holy shit he was going to melt like the butter in Yuuri’s eyes.

 

That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

 

He could hear the whispers of the people around him. Yuuri had burst through the _Chicken in the Fridge_ and transformed the boring, drab atmosphere, and had brought excitement back to it. A sort of wonder and beauty with his dancing, and Viktor was smitten. Smitten by Yuuri’s boundless hidden energy, his effortless charm that made him seduce half the restaurant and the fact that he was unashamedly rolling his hips against his.

 

Viktor put his hands on his clothed hips, ran his fingers over the cold, wet skin of his back and pulled him closer.

 

“Vicktooor, I’m going to lose my job Vicquetor,” his breath was hot against his ear, “Your hair smells amazing, did you know that?”

 

He wrapped himself closer, and Viktor stiffened.

 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his cold nose running up his neck, and Viktor swallowed nervously. Yuuri rolled his hips again. Shocked. And again. He swallowed loudly. Flattered. He couldn’t tell. He was grinding unashamedly against him. “You’re so gorgeous, and you scare me so, so bad Виктор. If I lose my job, my medical expenses are on your hands.”

 

His heart was ready to beat out of his chest, his thoughts racing. What did Yuuri mean by all this?

 

He opened his mouth to ask, just as Yuuri let out a whispered ‘Oh God,’ turned, and vomited on his seven hundred dollar Salvatore Ferragamo patent leather shoes. The worst part though?

 

His first thought was, ‘Are you okay?’

 

He had it bad.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had never been so thankful he'd had a valet park his car. He had become suspicious of using valet services after one valet took his precious pink 1969 Cadillac convertible for a joy ride. But tonight, he was uncharacteristically unconcerned with the state of his car as the valet drove his vehicle up to the front of _The Chicken in the Fridge._  Usually, after using a valet service, Viktor would meticulously inspect his car, looking under seats for evidence of drive-thru food and making sure his rhinestone seat covers hadn't been stained in his absence.

 

But that routine didn't matter now. Viktor had something a thousand times more precious than his car in his arms now; a hammered Yuuri Katsuki. The alcohol had finally put Yuuri into an almost incapacitated state that allowed Viktor to carry him out of the restaurant, much to majority of the patrons displeasure, and keep him conscious long enough to seat him in the backseat of his car. Yuuri slumped over and laid in the backseat as Viktor drove.

 

“Yuuri? Can you tell me where you live? I need to take you home.”

 

Yuuri groaned in the back of the car, rolling onto his back. “Where I live?”

 

“Yes, zolotse. I'm taking you home. I just need your address.” Viktor looked in the rearview mirror and watched as Yuuri attempted to sit up but slipped and fell face first on the seat. “You know what? Just give me your ID.”

 

A small leather wallet was thrown from the back onto the passenger seat. Viktor pulled onto the shoulder of the road and opened Yuuri's wallet searching for his ID. He smiled to himself at Yuuri's ID photo, finding that he looked awful cute squinting at camera without his glasses on.

 

“So you live on 14 Ygrecl Knik Avenue? Is this correct?”

 

Yuuri mumbled into the seat. “No. I moved four months ago. Haven't updated my ID yet.”

 

Viktor sighed. “Yuuri. Can you please give me an idea of where you live? Is there someone you live with or a neighbor you could call that could give me directions?” Viktor sincerely hoped there wasn't anyone Yuuri lived with, at least not a romantic partner. It would devastate Viktor to find out Yuuri had someone already when he'd just stolen Viktor's heart.

 

“Just my roommate.” Yuuri made a horse noise, as in discomfort. “He's evil, but he's my best friend. He even picked out my outfit for, _hic,_ for tonight.”

 

 _Thank God,_ Viktor thought to himself. Yuuri was single and, more importantly on a the more shallow side of the spectrum that Viktor couldn't deny existed in him, he had not picked out the ridiculous outfit he was currently wearing. At the interview, Yuuri hadn't dressed very stylishly, but Viktor had summed it up to inexperience and an apparent tendency of working class men to be frugal when spending money on clothes. It's not that Yuuri's chosen outfit for the interview was in poor taste….. It was just obviously cheap.

 

“Yuuri? Could you give me your cell so I could call your roommate for directions?” Viktor watched as Yuuri attempted to throw his phone to the front of the car but Viktor reached back and caught Yuuri's wrist, gently prying the device from Yuuri's fingers. Viktor couldn't help but enjoy the skin to skin contact of their hands, and he let his fingers linger on Yuuri's wrist. Viktor reluctantly let Yuuri go and turned back into his seat to unlock Yuuri's phone. Yuuri promptly collapsed back onto the seat.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

A load groan like that of man being fisted on pornhub echoed in the back seat. “What?”

 

“What's your passcode?”

 

Yuuri sat up and leaned over the console, reaching out to swipe the unlocking pattern. However Yuuri's movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, dragging his fingers messily across the screen over and over again. Viktor plucked the device from Yuuri's hands but it was already too late. They were locked out of Yuuri's phone for the next 5 hours. Viktor sighed heavily. He turned to look at Yuuri who was laying his head on the console.

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked tentatively.

 

Yuuri hummed in response. “Yes my beautiful Vicquetor?”

 

Viktor couldn't help the blush that arose to his cheeks. “Yuuri, why don't you spend the night at my place. I can't take you home if I don't know your address. You can stay in my guest bedroom.”

 

Yuuri looked up at Viktor with his entrancing hazel eyes. Viktor swore he could drown in their depths any day of the week. Yuuri nodded his head and began to open his mouth as if to say something-

 

And then vomited on Viktor's passenger seat.

 

All the platinumette could think was, _I think I'm falling in love with him._

 

The drive to Viktor's flat was peaceful, even with the stench of vomit in the car. Yuuri continued to lay his head on the console and every so often Viktor ran his hand through the drunken man’s soft locks. When they were parked in the complex’s garage, Viktor pulled Yuuri into his arms and carried him bridal style into the building. Once at his flat, he struggled to unlock his door and keep Yuuri in his arms at the same time.

 

But Yuuri must have noticed his straining as maneuvered himself so his arms wrapped them around Viktor's neck and his legs around his waist. Viktor gasped at the closeness, but shook off his sudden arousal, focusing on getting Yuuri into his condo and getting him settled for the night.

 

Once inside, Viktor toed off his shoes and headed towards the guest room. Viktor briefly considered letting Yuuri stay in his room for the night, but decided that the guest room was better choice. After all, Yuuri was from the working class and would probably become overwhelmed by the extravagance of the flat’s master bedroom.

 

Viktor carried Yuuri into the guest bedroom and stood by side of the bed. He began to try to untangle Yuuri's arms from around his neck, but Yuuri only tightened his hold.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor started. “You need to let go of me. I need to put you to bed so you can sleep off that murderous hangover I know you're going to have tomorrow.” Viktor continued to struggle to pull Yuuri's arms away from his neck. “Please little velcro monkey, you need to let go.”

 

Viktor reached down to Yuuri's waist and lightly ran his fingers down his sides. Yuuri's body spasmed and he broke into laughter. Viktor easily escaped from Yuuri's grip and dropped him onto the mattress. Yuuri crawled back over to Viktor and began to reach for Viktor.

 

“No Yuuri” Viktor said forcefully. “You need to go to bed.”

 

Yuuri groaned and collapsed dramatically onto the bed. “But Viktoooor. You smell, _hic_ , so good.” Yuuri rolled onto his back and raised his arms into the air, his hands making grabbing gestures at Viktor. “Please. Stay with me, Viquetor.”

 

Viktor flushed. Yuuri's offer was very tempting, but staying with Yuuri would be a mistake. Viktor could not allow himself to let anything happen between himself and Yuuri while the latter was in his current state.

 

Determinedly, Viktor put on his best impression of mother and positioned himself with his hands on his hips.

 

“Yuuri Katsuki. You are going to go sleep. _Now. By yourself._ No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes and agitatedly yanked back the covers of the bed. After a few minutes of angrily rolling around beneath the covers, Yuuri appeared to have found a comfortable position. The tension had left his body and the crinkles between his brows smoothed out. Viktor looked at him fondly feeling his chest fill the same warm affection he had begun to feel for the journalist that night. Viktor backed away from the bed and headed towards the hall. Taking one last look at Yuuri, he closed the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *All referring to penis

**Author's Note:**

> This fic couldn't have come into existence without the persistence of the sinhole™ thanks for the contribution  
> Also thanks so much to the amazing [Phayte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phayte/pseuds/Phayte)   
> You opened up a world of oppurtunities for us
> 
> Find us on tumblr: [here](https://smutinator.tumblr.com/) and [here](https://evermoredeath.tumblr.com/)  
> Hope you enjoy :)


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